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December, 2022.
To Ian, there was something so overwhelmingly bittersweet about going back to Sacramento for the holidays.
Of course, there were parts of going home that he loved, that he looked forward to every year and that put the 'sweet' in his bittersweet view of his hometown. He loved being able to see his family, that was the main one. He loved being able to hang out with his mom and dad and loved being able to spend time with his sister and her family, especially because he rarely saw them. He loved being in his childhood home, loved sleeping in his old bed (even though it was far too small to be comfortable anymore) and finding things from his childhood that he thought he'd forgotten about, filling him with nostalgia as he was reminded of memories from long ago. And, simply, he loved being in his hometown, loved driving the familiar streets and seeing the familiar sights, settling into a routine that felt something akin to his teenage years. Simple, and easy. No responsibility beyond running the odd errand for his mom.
There was just something he loved about being at home for the holidays. He loved living in L.A., yes, but nothing would ever quite compare to the feeling of being home. The same ornaments that were always hung from their Christmas tree, the same houses in the neighbourhood that always had the same elaborate light displays, the same recipes that his family always used for Christmas dinner, tried and true, and the chaos that every Christmas seemed to bring; it was all a comforting familiarity Ian knew he'd never be able to find in L.A. It was a welcome reprieve from the madness that typically filled his days. That's why he loved it so much.
But love it as he did, there was something bitter about it too. A dark cloud that hung over his head and dampened his festive spirit. A constant reminder that, even though coming home was familiar and welcoming, it would never be the same, because there would always be something missing.
Everything reminded him of Anthony.
Deep down, Ian knew that it was the real reason he only ever flew home for the holidays, even though he had the flexibility to do it a lot more often. Everywhere he went, everything he did, there was always something that would inevitably remind him of Anthony. In the flight to Sacramento that, despite flying alone for years, would always make him think of flying with Anthony, sitting beside each other on the plane and playing dumb games off one of their phones to pass the time. In the street that housed Anthony's childhood home, the street Ian barely resisted the urge to drive down as he drove around town, the muscle memory engrained deep within him beckoning him towards it until he actively reminded himself to turn away. In the ancient notebooks holding drafts of old Smosh sketches that still littered his desk even after years of sitting unused, their names scribbled across the covers in low-quality ballpoint pen. In the photos of him and Anthony hanging on the walls that his mom still hadn't taken down, images of their adolescents and early Smosh days alike freezing the frame on a simpler, happier time.
And sure, maybe it was kind of pathetic for him to still be as hung up on him and his absence as he was, especially after so many years of radio silence, but truly, with everything Ian did, there was inevitably something that reminded him of Anthony. He could never escape it. It surrounded him, pulling at the still-unhealed wound Anthony's departure left him with every time he thought about him. Each memory he had served as nothing but a painful reminder that Christmas would never be the same, something he still hadn't come to terms with, suffocating him with the constant reminder that he lost his best friend, the one person who truly understood him, before he ever had the chance to seek out more.
If only he'd pulled his head out of his ass and realised sooner...
Again, much like the holiday seasons prior, Ian found himself on his family room couch, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone as he tried not to look at the gallery of framed photos that lay in front of him, obnoxiously sprawled across the length of the wall. He hadn't quite realised at the time just how intertwined he and Anthony's lives were, but in almost every photo of him from age twelve, Anthony was somehow there. In photos from birthday parties, family vacations, cross-country events Anthony would always attend to support him, graduations, and holidays they would always somehow end up seeing each other on; they were truly always together. They had the photos to prove it, the same photos they abruptly stopped taking once their friendship turned sour and they stopped spending so much time together. The same photos they would probably never take again. Ian wished his mom would take them down. He didn't know how many more times he'd have to ask.
He knew part of himself would always resent Anthony for being such a big part of his life. He knew it was irrational, unfair, to resent him for such a thing, Ian was equally a big part of Anthony's life too, but unlike Ian, he doubted he had to live with the constant reminder. He doubted Anthony thought about him often, even at all, and he doubted Anthony's mom had photos of them hanging on her wall. Unlike Ian, Anthony didn't have to walk through his house being tortured by the memories of the time they spent there together, he probably just got to ignore it. Move on. Not have his every waking thought consumed by the person he left behind all those years ago...
No, Ian reminded himself bitterly, tapping his phone a little too hard. He didn't leave you behind. He left a company that was treating him unfairly, treating all of you unfairly. He just left you behind in the process...
He was being driven insane. He needed to get out of his damn house.
"Honey!" the voice of his mom calling from the kitchen broke him from his spiral, and he looked up from his phone, his eyes drifting to the direction of her voice. "Can you do me a favour?"
"Yeah, what is it?"
"Can you run to the store for me? I've got a list of stuff I need but I have to wrap presents before your sister gets here."
Well, it was as good of an excuse as any to get out of the house. "Yeah, I'll go now!"
+++
Fifty minutes into his grocery store trip, Ian was already deeply regretting his decision to help his mom out.
Normally, he had no problem with running errands for her, often taking up any task she threw his way in an effort to repay her for all the things she'd done for him. Every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, he found himself doing odd jobs - cleaning the gutters, mowing the front lawn, helping her go through the attic and, apparently, going to the grocery store - and he always did so without a complaint. At the very least, it gave him something to do other than just sit there. But now? Now he was complaining.
The grocery store was a madhouse. Seemingly, it didn't matter that Christmas was still a few days out, because there were people everywhere, rushing about the carpark and filling the aisles as they scrambled to find last-minute presents and stock up on groceries before their guests arrived. It'd taken him almost half an hour to find a carpark, which, in his opinion, was far longer than it should ever take to park in a grocery store, and once he made the trek from the far corner he'd parked in, it'd taken him almost twenty minutes just to make it through the produce section, narrowly avoiding hitting anyone with his cart as people dashed every which way, crashing into him and each other as they reached for carrots and potatoes.
He was exhausted. Thank God he didn't have that much of the list to go.
Clutching the paper in one hand and the handle of his shopping cart with the other, Ian weaved through the aisles, squeezing through whatever gap he could find as he searched for the specific brand of custard his mom had written down. Truly, he didn't know why she needed that specific brand, and he also didn't know where that specific brand was, but as he continued to search the long line of custard (seriously, why was there so much custard), he was getting increasingly fed up.
It wasn't his fault, he would reason with himself later, that his attention was taken up by inspecting the label of every carton of custard he passed. It wasn't his fault that he wasn't looking where he was going as he continued to move down the aisle. But, maybe, it was his fault as he crashed into someone else's cart, the loud clash of metal filling the aisle as the bars collided. Ian, whose body hadn't quite registered the need to stop yet, was sent into the handlebars, hitting his ribs as he stubbed his toe against the wheel.
"Oh shit, sorry about that. I wasn't looking where I was-" As he finally tore his eyes away from the custard and to the person he crashed into, he trailed off, the words stuck in place on the tip of his tongue as a screaming sense of panic rapidly filled him. He froze, his entire body seemingly paralysed with his eyes wide and his mouth dry. He let out a shaky exhale, reminding himself that he could, in fact, breathe, even as his heart was squeezed in the cruel fist of the universe. How was this happening?
"Ian..." The person in front of him spoke, all but confirming his worst nightmare. He couldn't escape now, not now that they'd acknowledged each other. In a perfect world, the other would've turned away instantly, and retreated back down the aisle and away from Ian. But this wasn't a perfect world. They were talking now. Ian had no choice but to respond.
Oh no. Please no.
"Anthony."
For a moment, they stared at each other, not saying anything as they stood in stunned silence. Sure, they'd seen each other in passing at YouTube events, from a safe distance in a crowd of others, and Ian had seen him in the corner of Shayne and Courtney's YouTuber Hide and Seek video, but this was the first time they'd seen each other in years. The first time they stood together and simply took each other in for possibly the first time since Anthony walked out of the Defy office and didn't look back. To Ian, he somehow looked both exactly the same and totally different. He looked older, more mature, more put together. And his hair was curlier, but then again, Ian already knew that. A few too many late-night social media binges were enough to tell him that Anthony had been embracing his curls for some time. He looked good. Well. Not at all like he was being tortured by the thought of the Ian. Lucky bastard.
"What are you doing here?" Ian asked eventually, biting the bullet as the silence got too suffocating. Instantly, he regretted it. They were standing in a grocery store. What else would he be doing?
"Just grocery shopping for my mom," Anthony shrugged, gesturing to their still collided carts. Ian jolted, pulling his away and straightening it. "You?"
"Yeah, same. She needs, um, custard."
Anthony chuckled softly, shaking his head. Ian's heart panged uncomfortably in his chest at the sound of it. "Fair enough. Uhh, how are you? How have things been?" His voice was cautious, careful as if Ian was a frightened animal who could bolt at any second. In retrospect, maybe he was. His desire to run away only increased with every second he spent standing in front of him.
"Yeah, I'm good. Busy. Trying to work out the next year of content, you know how it is," He shrugged. Anthony didn't need to know that he'd spent the last week moping about his house, his heart panging with every photo of them he walked past. That was knowledge for Ian, and Ian only. "How are you?"
"I'm pretty good," Anthony nodded. "About the same. Busy, trying to work out next year." He trailed off, looking down at Ian steadily. Ian squirmed under his gaze, trying to look anywhere but him. "You look good."
Ian's breath hitched, his heart leaping. He looked what? "Thanks. So do you."
The silence was back as they continued to stare at each other, the air between them painfully awkward. Around them, shoppers continued to bustle about, reaching between them to pick up items and swerving their carts away from them at the last moment, but neither paid them any mind. They just continued to stare at each other, taking in the sight of each other in before it would inevitably disappear again. "I've missed you," Anthony said suddenly, his voice sickeningly earnest as a soft pink twinge filled his cheeks.
Ian blinked, trying to process his words. Anthony missed him? No, Anthony didn't miss him. If he missed him, he would've told him sooner. Would've reached out. Would've done anything but ignore his existence for five years. Suddenly, the awkward air that surrounded them turned sour, bitter, and Ian's face hardened, his brow clenching as his mouth morphed into a frown. Damn Anthony, for thinking he could swoop in at the grocery store and just declare that he missed him. Damn Anthony for thinking one little sentence that probably meant nothing to him would instantly make Ian fold. "Oh, right," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You missed me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He parroted, his grip on his grocery list becoming ever tighter. Maybe he was acting like a child, but he didn't care. Anthony didn't get to do this. Not after years of silence. "You haven't spoken to me in five fucking years Anthony. Forgive me for struggling to believe that you've actually missed me."
"Ian, come on. Don't be like this-"
"Don't be like what?" He seethed. "You don't get to waltz in here and pretend that you've missed me when you're the one who left. You're the one who never reached out. You wouldn't have to 'miss me' if you just acted like an adult and spoke to me about it before making the decision to up and leave!"
Anthony's face shifted, his small, tentative smile quickly turning into something spiteful. Ian squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He wasn't going to show him any weakness. Not here, not now. "Ian, you're not being very fair. I tried to speak to you about what was happening, and you gave me nothing. No help, no sympathy, no empathy. You barely acknowledged me! And, either way, you know why I left. We weren't being treated right, and you know it." Despite the spiteful look on his face, Anthony's voice was scarily calm, almost too calm. If anything, it only made Ian madder.
"You don't think I don't know that? You don't think I didn't want to leave too? Even after all the shit they put us through, I was the one who stayed. I was the one who had to deal with the shutdown. I was the one who had to find a new home so a company full of people didn't end up jobless. You don't think that through all of that, I didn't want to leave? That I wasn't struggling?"
"You seemed to be doing pretty fine to me."
"How would you know? You weren't there! I was miserable, Anthony. I was drowning. But Shayne kept telling me he knew it was too good to last. And every time Courtney looked at me, there were tears in her eyes. So I had no choice but to keep going because I didn't want to abandon them like you did to me." You're saying too much, a voice in the back of Ian's head screamed at him. Stop it, he doesn't need to know that. But even so, he couldn't stop. Now that he was here, properly talking to him for the first time since he left, it was like the floodgates had opened, and everything Ian had ever wanted to say to him came rushing out. Too bad it was happening in the middle of the grocery store full of people, the judging eyes of other holiday shoppers on them as they yelled back and forth to each other.
"Oh my God, get over yourself. I didn't abandon you, I left the company. There was nothing stopping us from still being friends or, heaven forbid, trying to fix our relationship. But no, because you didn't get your own way, everything had to be destroyed, and suddenly I was the villain in everyone's stories. Just because you were too butthurt by the fact I was, for once, making my own decision without your input. Seriously Ian, grow the hell up!"
When he finished, Anthony paused, looking at him with fire in his eyes as he breathed heavily, his chest heaving. For a moment, the slightest hint of regret flashed across his face, his eyes temporarily softening, but it only lasted a second before Anthony's glare once again hardened. Ian's frown grew deeper, sadder, as he looked back at who used to be his best friend. This was why they hadn't spoken in years, he remembered sadly, they hated each other. There was no point in denying it further.
"You're an asshole, and I don't want to talk to you ever again." And with that, Ian grabbed his cart and weaved back through the aisle, beelining straight for the registers as he bit his lip and tried not to look back. Everything hurt, his head, his chest, his heart, and he was once again filled with the bitter resentment he was trying so hard to swallow.
Only after he got back to the car did he realise he never got the custard.
+++
"I'm home!" Ian burst through the front door, his arms filled with grocery bags as he moved straight towards the kitchen. Finding his mom standing there, he dropped the bags on the floor, narrowly avoiding the plastic handle of the bag breaking as he did so. "I forgot the custard. I'll go back and get it later." But not until I know Anthony isn't there, he filled in in his head. But his mom didn't need to know that he'd seen Anthony. He couldn't image what she'd say if she knew.
"That's okay honey, it's not that urgent. It just saves me from going later," she shrugged, taking the bags from his feet. Ian nodded, looking blankly at the wall. He was reeling the whole drive home from the store, his stomach in knots as he replayed every word they spoke to each other. Truthfully, the longer he thought about it, the more he felt the urge to cry, a lump of emotion sitting thick in his throat every time Anthony's words replayed in his head. But he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't cry, especially over him. Like everything, he'd swallow it down and move on. "There's a card for you on the table by the way."
Ian's eyebrow quipped. "For me? Like, me specifically?"
"Yes, it came in the mail earlier."
Ian moved over to the table and picked up the envelope, his stomach dropping as he inspected it. Written in the same low-quality ballpoint pen that littered the notebooks covering his desk was his name, the not-quite cursive handwriting painfully familiar. Ian's breath hitched. That was Anthony's handwriting. Anthony had written him a card. What the fuck?
"This is Anthony's handwriting!" He exclaimed, waving the envelope in the direction of his mom.
She didn't turn to face him, too preoccupied with putting her groceries away. "Is it?"
"Yeah, this is definitely his. I -" he trailed off, looking at her suspiciously. She was surprisingly calm, something Ian didn't expect. He always assumed that when he told his mom he and Anthony were talking again, if that ever happened, she'd be shocked, confused, or happy even. But now she simply didn't seem that bothered. Like it was 2009 and they were talking every single day. "Wait, why aren't you surprised?"
"Well, I think it's nice he sent you a Christmas card. You were best friends after all."
"Yeah, 5 years ago. We haven't spoken since 2017, mom. This is kinda weird. Why on Earth would he suddenly be writing me a Christmas card?"
Finally, she turned from the pantry to give him a guilty smile. "Look, Ian, it's probably time I tell you something. Anthony has been sending us Christmas cards every year since he left. He's never written you one individually, this is the first time he's done that, but your name has always been on the Christmas cards he writes us."
Ian stared at her incredulously, his eyes wide. "Why wouldn't you tell me something like that?"
"We didn't think you'd want to know. And it's not like I've been hiding them, they've always been on the mantle with all the other Christmas cards we get. You've just never looked."
"Of course, I'd want to know something like that! He's been keeping in contact all these years, he's been-" remembering the envelope still in his hand, the envelope with his name on it, Ian tore into it, a wave of emotion rushing over him as he took in his handwriting. For a moment, he got to pretend that it was the old days. That Anthony had been there the whole day, and he was handing him a scene from a sketch he'd been working on to look over. For a moment, he got to pretend that they didn't just yell at each other in the aisle of a grocery store, that they still worked together and they were still best friends.
But, reading the first line, he couldn't pretend. This wasn't the 'dear Ian, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year' card he used to get back when they were best friends because everything Anthony wanted to say to him he just could. This was a whole message, his handwriting taking up both sides of the card as he, seemingly, poured out his soul to him after years of no contact.
Dear Ian,
I don't really know why I'm doing this. I write your family a Christmas card every year, I guess you know this already, but I haven't written you one specifically since we were teenagers. And I know we haven't spoken in five years either, which probably makes this weirder, but this year something compelled me to write you one too. I guess I just have something to say this year.
First of all, I'm sorry. I'm not going to rehash everything that went down when I left the company, we've both unpacked that more than enough, but I want you to know that I'm sorry. For being such an arse about it when I had the choice to be nicer, for not supporting you as well as I could've, and for leaving you in charge with very little warning. I've struggled a lot with the what-ifs of that situation, of this entire situation, but we can't change that now. Either way, I want you to know I'm sorry. And I want you to know that I'm proud of you for being such a strong force for the company. Even watching from an outside perspective, it was obvious how much work you were putting into it. So, thank you for saving everything we worked so hard for.
Secondly, I want you to know that I miss you. I miss our friendship, and not the bitter, toxic friendship we had towards the end. I miss what we had when we were young, when we were bright-eyed and when everything we did was for fun. You were my favourite person Ian, and deep down, maybe you still are. And I miss that.
Back when I left, I was dealing with a lot of feelings, feelings towards the world, myself and... towards you that I didn't entirely know how to process, and I think it's part of the reason I became so distant and spiteful towards you, even though it wasn't your fault. But now I've worked out these feelings, and worked on myself to become better, I've realised how much I truly miss you, and how much I loved you back then. I would really like it if we could reconnect. I don't care how, and I don't really care when either, I just want to talk to you again. I want to be your friend again.
But this isn't just up to me. This is your choice too. And I don't want to force you to talk to me if you don't want to. If you want, you can tear up this card and ignore me. You can disregard it, and I'll never know. But please know that I do really want to start over with us, and I hope you do too.
Merry Christmas Ian, and Happy New Year. I hope your 2023 is filled with all the happiness you deserve.
Love From, Anthony.
Ian was once again frozen, though unlike before, he was not frozen in fear or in anger. He wasn't frozen because all of his lasting resentment towards Anthony had rushed to the surface. More than anything, he was frozen in shock as he tried to process what Anthony had written. Anthony truly did miss him, and maybe, once upon a time, even loved him. He was once Anthony's favourite person, and maybe he still was. Even as he read it, Ian struggled to believe it, but his heart swelled regardless, his chest heavy with emotion. Anthony... still cared about him.
And he'd just yelled at him in the middle of a store. Called him an asshole. Shit.
Grabbing his keys from where he'd thrown them on the bench, he frantically pushed his feet back into his shoes and ran for the door. "I'll be back soon!"
+++
Ian had no idea what he was doing.
In retrospect, it probably would've been a good idea to think of a plan before he rushed out the door because now, standing in front of Anthony's childhood home, he found himself without a clue on how to proceed. His head was empty, looping through a constant cycle of "you were my favourite person Ian, and deep down, maybe you still are" and "I've realised how much I truly miss you, and how much I loved you back then." He was incapable of thinking about anything else. How could he after hearing the things he'd waited five years, maybe longer, to hear? Because Ian felt the same. Ian missed him, Ian loved him, and he knew, deep down, that Anthony would always hold the title of his favourite person, whether they were talking or not. So for Anthony to feel the same... he didn't know how to comprehend it.
He needed to do something. He couldn't just hover by Anthony's porch steps for the rest of his life. Taking out his phone, he punched Anthony's home number into the keypad, forever memorised after years of use. He just hoped he'd be the one to answer...
"Hello?"
Oh thank god. "Anthony!"
"Ian? What are -"
"Come outside!" He interrupted, clutching the phone tighter in his hand. He knew he sounded desperate, but maybe he was. He needed to fix whatever he'd done in the grocery store, clutch at every straw to repair their relationship. Seeing it in writing made Ian realise it too. He wanted their friendship back just as much as Anthony did, maybe even more. He wanted his best friend back. He wanted to fix them, and goddammit, he was going to.
"What?"
"I'm standing on your porch steps, just... come outside!"
"Okay, okay!" By some miracle, he didn't sound upset that he was standing outside, just confused, and for that, Ian was thankful. "I'll be out in a sec."
He hung up the phone, leaving Ian standing in the screaming silence of the suburban street. Around him people pulled into driveways, car doors slammed and doorbells rang, but all he could focus on was Anthony's front door. He watched intently as the doorknob turned, his breath hitching as Anthony stepped outside. He was once again face to face with the other man, standing in front of him for the second time that day. "Hi."
"Hi?" Anthony said cautiously. He looked as confused as ever and, frankly, Ian couldn't blame him. An hour ago he was telling him he was an asshole and now here he was, on his porch, ready to grovel for forgiveness. What a rapid turn of events. "What are you doing here Ian?"
Despite the winter chill in the air, Ian found himself sweating, his hands clammy as he thought of what to say. His mouth was once again dry, his brain nothing but TV static as he searched for the right words. What was he meant to say to him? "I'm here to apologise," he said slowly, taking a long, deep breath. "And explain myself."
Anthony nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Go on."
Ian took another breath. Here he goes. "I'm sorry for being such a dick before. And in general, but especially before. You're not an asshole, and I was being selfish. I know why you left, and I didn't reach out to you either, so I'm just as much the reason we haven't spoken in five years as you. It's just-" he paused, licking his lips. Anthony was still looking at him steadily, but there wasn't any anger in his eyes. Confusion and maybe some hurt, yes, but not anger. That was enough to keep Ian going. "I have this stupid, like, resentment towards you. For leaving. And that's not your fault, that's entirely on me. So I'm sorry."
Anthony nodded again, slower. "Thank you. But, you know I didn't abandon you, right? That was never my intention when I left."
"I know. I think I started thinking like that because I came to some realisations right around that time-" he snuck a glance at Anthony's face. His brow quipped knowingly, and Ian quickly looked away. It would be too much, too soon to delve into that whole mess. Though considering what Anthony said in his card... " and I felt hurt that you 'left me'. I've been so caught up in my own view of the situation that I kinda forgot this but, I do know that you didn't abandon me.
"That's fair," Anthony agreed. "And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for everything I said too. I really didn't mean it."
"Thanks."
An awkward silence fell between them. Anthony's gaze tore from Ian, his eyes flicking around his front yard as Ian rocked on his heels. "I got your card!" Ian blurted suddenly, unable to stand the energy between them.
"Oh, you did?"
"Yes," he breathed. "And I want you to know that, everything you said, I feel the same. I miss the way we used to be, I miss you, and I know it's going to take a lot of work but... I want us to be friends again. Because, frankly, these last few years have sucked without you."
"Yeah, they have. And I'd really like that. For us to be friends again." And for the first time in years, they shared a smile. A genuine, happy smile, nothing like the fake smiles they swapped for the sake of content and keeping up the best friend image before they parted. It was enough to send Ian's heart fluttering, the same giddy butterflies he got when they were teenagers filling his stomach. Against his better judgement, Ian tentatively opened his arms towards him, smiling brightly when Anthony stepped into them without hesitation. With Anthony's long arms wrapped around his shoulders, Ian couldn't help but be filled with hope. They were going to be okay.
"I better go back inside before my mom gets too worried," Anthony sighed, pointing behind him to the still slightly cracked open front door as he pulled away from the hug reluctantly.
Ian nodded. "Yeah, I better go get the custard I forgot at the store before it gets too hectic. But hey, maybe you could come over on Christmas night. Like old times."
"Really?"
"Yeah, everyone would get a kick out of it. I'm sure my mom would love to see you. And, umm..." he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his face burning. "And I'd really like it if you came."
"Then I'll be there," Anthony said instantly. "Around eight sound good?"
"Perfect."
"Well... okay then." With one last lingering smile, Anthony retreated up the stairs. Ian watched him go, a content feeling settling in his stomach. For the first time in five years, his hometown didn't seem so bitter. The street that housed Anthony's childhood home no longer felt like a forbidden beacon Ian was constantly trying to avoid. For the first time in a long time, he thought of Anthony and smiled, the weight of five years of resentment finally starting to alleviate. They were going to fix it, Ian knew then. They were going to fix their friendship and finally go back to how things used to be. At least as best they could after years of separation. And maybe, one day down the line, Ian would finally get the chance he missed. But for now, he got to revel in the fact that he was going to get his best friend back, and for him, that was enough.
"Oh, and Anthony?" Ian called after him right as his hand hit the doorknob.
Anthony turned, looking at him expectantly. "Yeah?"
"You're still kinda my favourite person too."